GTA: Vengeance Is Ours
by Sir Jason Gray
Summary: CJ just awoke from a coma and the world has moved on without him. The Feds want him to do their dirty work. Kendl is a Las Venturas stripper. Sweet just escaped from prison. Cesar is on a mission to reclaim his throne (and his woman), while Ryder fights rival gangs and crooked cops to keep his throne as king of Los Santos. There's a war brewing in Los Santos…and to get revenge.
1. Chapter 1: Por La Vida

**Author's Note: This story is a second part to ****_Things I Don't Tell My Friends_****, the first fanfic I ever wrote and first story on the GTA archive. I last updated the story in March, but after three months without updating for it, I felt it was at a perfect place to do a second part. Some of the readers didn't like the slash elements in the story's first half, and when I tried to edit those scenes from the story's remaining plot, it did not go well. The story basically diverged from the plot I conceived and it was impossible to continue. **

**So, for this story, there will be no elements of slash. It will pick up where ****_Things_****ended, so the characters have basically the same motives as of the end of that story. But there will be original missions and I'll provide details to cover the slash from that story. **

**For the geography of Las Venturas (in case you've seen a map), all the horizontal streets will be named after U.S. presidents and officials. And all the vertical streets will be named after precious metals and minerals. **

**Also, I decided to set the ages of the main characters, as a reference point for future events. CJ is 25 (born September 1****, ****1967); Kendl is 21 (born November 26, 1970); Sweet is 29 (born May 1, 1963); Cesar is 28 (born May 28, 1964); and Ryder is 25 (born July 31, 1967).**

**Anyway, review and follow. Keeps me motivated.**

* * *

**_Las Venturas, November 1992_**

**_Cesar Vialpando_**

From the window of his suite at the Emerald Isle Casino, Cesar Vialpando had a view overlooking the entire city of Las Venturas. Night had just fallen, embracing the city in a darkness like ink, but with myriad neon signs and phosphorus lights, the Las Venturas Strip glowed as brightly as a second sun. _'__Esta ciudad es tan Hermosa en la noche. The perfect place to find mi amor and remind her how deeply she loves me.'_

Cesar had checked into Emerald Isle only a few hours earlier after driving straight from San Fierro, had gone to sleep in his boxers and white tank, and woke up to find night had fallen. His ex-girlfriend, Kendl Johnson, had moved to Las Venturas and left her roommates (who were dead, but not by Cesar's hands) with a postcard inviting them to come visit her if they ever had the time. That was what led him to Las Venturas.

That, and his suspicions that whoever murdered Kendl's roommates, wanted to murder Kendl too.

Cesar turned from the window and started to dress: Gray Victim suit, gray Zip boots, and a gold Virgin of Guadalupe chain, with a gold watch. After he fastened the clasp on the watch, Cesar went to the mirror and examined his look. _'__Que guapo! Just what I need to cruise the strip tonight y encontrar a mi amor.' _

In the barrio of Los Santos, Kendl—and her notorious gangbanger brothers Sweet and Carl—were seen as intruders. They were African-American as far back as they could trace their heritage. Cesar, his brothers, and his barrio were all proud Chicano warriors, relegated to a smaller corner of the city that should rightfully have been theirs before the invasion of Columbus and European colonists hundreds of years earlier. In fact, Cesar was a prominent leader in his gang, Varrio Los Aztecas. They didn't tolerate any of the Black gangs—the Ballas and Grove Street Families—or the Russians, or even the Los Santos Vagos invading their neighborhood. Los Aztecas fought fiercely to keep their gang and their territory free of the influences of those gangs, dealing in crack, heroin, and any other potent drug.

Prostitutes were on the streets of Las Venturas as thick as flies on horse manure. Cesar saw them strolling the block in front of the hotel as he walked through the lobby to the parking garage, but he ignored them. But when he had climbed into his cherry red 1975 Fauchee Savanna, it was impossible to ignore the prostitutes, since one strolled right in front of Cesar's car.

"Puta desvergonzada, you need to move out the way!" Cesar called out to the hooker. _'__Nunca quise uno antes, y yo no quiero uno ahora__.' _ Kendl's brothers were no strangers to hookers, but Cesar knew about heterosexual gangbangers catching AIDS from women who sold themselves or from heroin needles. And Cesar had no time for that either.

The hooker glared at Cesar. She had the jet black hair, caramel brown skin, and the facial features of a Mexican woman. Judging from the heavy set of her hips, she probably had had one or more children old enough to go to elementary school. Cesar slammed his hand on his car horn, and the streetwalker sprinted down the street. He sped out of the garage and down the Strip to the nearest bar.

_'__I usted debe poner de su miseria,'_ Cesar thought. Still there was an ache in his heart, and it wasn't just for the prostituted woman or for her children. _'__Si Kendl esta hacienda esto, voy a matarla.'_

His first stop was the Happy Clam Bar on the strip, next to the Sticky Pages Adult XXX Store. The bar had low lighting, a seedy atmosphere, and it was packed with sweaty, smelly, drunk men. Even the bartender seemed disgruntled. _'__Kendl hates places like this, but I know mi mujer. She wouldn't want anyone to find her easily.'_

Cesar approached the grumpy-looking woman with long red hair. "Perdon, do you know if a woman named Kendl Johnson works here?"

"No."

Cesar pulled out his wallet. There was a 3x5 photo of Kendl inside the first fold. The Azteca warrior held it close enough to the bartender's face that it would be clearly visible, even in the bar's dim light. Cesar also placed a $100 bill on the counter. "Do you recognize her?"

The woman leaned closer and Cesar could see into the canyon of her cleavage. "Yeah, she works as a waitress at the Porker Steakhouse on Nixon Street.

_'__That's not far from the Emerald Isle. __Mi amor, usted no era mayor nivel de vida__.'_Cesar left the bar, climbed in his Savanna, and sped through oncoming traffic up the Strip to reach Nixon Street faster. _'__After only two weeks in Venturas, my baby's got a job at a classy joint like this one? Mi mujer es tan inteligente!' _Cesar made sure to straighten his suit before he crossed the parking lot into the red-and-white themed building. He didn't see her from the picture windows on the side of the restaurant, but Cesar pulled on the elaborate gold handles, which were carved to look like golden calves.

A female maître d' with copper colored hair smiled at Cesar as he entered. "Welcome to Porker Steakhouse. You're sure to leave quite satisfied. How many in your party, sir?"

"No, no, no voy a comer, I didn't come here to eat. I'm looking for someone."

"Sir, I'm not allowed to provide information for our guests."

"It's not a guest. It's probably an employee." Cesar took out his wallet and showed Kendl's picture. "Do you recognize her?"

"Sir, I said…."

A waitress approached the maître d' with a menu in hand, "Liz, a customer said…" She glanced at Cesar's wallet. Then she did a double take and glanced at Cesar. "Sir, how do you know her?"

"Patty, you're not allowed to discuss _anyone _in front of a customer!"

"Please," Cesar begged. He took out a $100 bill and placed it on the maître d's podium. "I'm trying to find her. She's as important to me as life."

"Sir, I'm afraid it goes against our policy to disseminate any information about any employee or customer. We can't share that sort of information."

He glanced at the waitress called Patty. Her eyes darted from Cesar to his money back to Cesar. The meaning was clear. Cesar slapped another $100 bill on the maître d's podium and placed a business card (which Kendl had made for him and CJ) on top of the bill. "If you know anything, please give me a call on that number."

Cesar tapped the card and walked to his Savanna. _'__Voy a buscar a todo el mundo, si tengo que. __Pero, por que ella no me quiere?' _He climbed in the car, backed out the parking space, and turned off Nixon Street to Emerald Way, en route to the hotel. Just as the parking garage came in sight, his cell phone rang. "Hola!"

"Hi, Mister Veelapando.

"Vialpando," Cesar corrected quickly.

"Right. This is Patty, one of the waitresses from Porker? I saw you were looking for Kendl. We were really good friends she worked at Porker. Still are, kind of." The girl on the other end giggled, and in eager anticipation, Cesar stopped the car outside his parking garage and listened to her on the other end. His heart raced with anxiety. "Anyway, she quit a few days ago because the manager wouldn't let her keep tips. She has a job at the Pink Muffin bar over by the Camel's Toe."

"Lo que en el infierno, where is that?"

"Straight down the Strip, make a left on Hoover Drive, and a right on Topaz Street. You can't miss it. Tell her Patty sent you. Bye!"

Cesar backed out the garage entrance and sped down Emerald Avenue until it merged with Diamond Boulevard, forming the Las Venturas Strip. He accelerated in and out of traffic like he was in a race. _'__Kendl, a strip club? No trabjaría allí, no way. She knows how to make money using her brain.'_

He was at the Pink Muffin before he realized it. The club was unmistakable: a two-story gleaming whitewashed building with a neon pink contribution to the Las Venturas skyline, which illustrated nude neon woman leaning back on her arms and raising her left leg to flash a pink muffin resting between her thighs. _'__That looks like the Pink Muffin alright!'_

There was self-parking and valet parking offered to the side and back of the club. Cesar drove to the very back of the club, down a steep slope, and parked at the back of the club. Exiting the car, Cesar made sure to grease the bouncer's beefy brown hands and to flash his I.D. before entering the club.

The Isley Brothers' "Between the Sheets" set the mood as a topless White woman in a black leather pants gyrated her hips and seductively air-rode an imaginary horse. No fewer than six security guards walked around the club wearing gray suits, intimidating scowls, and micro-SMG guns visibly strapped to their waists Two other attractive women—one White and one Black—worked poles in other corners of the club, while less attractive Black, Mexican, and White women strolled the club in tight white tee shirts, pink leather skirts, and pink leather knee-high boots to offer drinks and snacks to the male patrons.. _'__Kendl might not be one of these putas, pero I'm going to make sure.'_

Cesar sauntered up to the bartender, a White woman dressed like the girls offering drinks and snacks. "Hey, welcome to the Pink Muffin."

"Aye, I'm looking for someone." She glanced at the nearest security guard as Cesar pulled out his wallet and showed Kendl's picture to her. "Do you recognize her?"

"Kandy Kane? Yeah, she's our next act! Only been here two days, and already she's a favorite of our audience!"

She pointed at the stage. "Between the Sheets" ended, and the White stripper walked through the pink curtains at the back of the stage. "Gentlemen, the Pink Muffin is proud to present one of its tastiest treats: Kandy Kane!"

Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up" began to play. The curtains parted, and Cesar's jaw dropped. It was Kendl as he had never seen her. She wore a candy striper nurse's uniform, white silk stockings, and white high heels. Her hair was in brown microbraids, which Kendl let down from a tight bun and swung free. She wound her body sinuously and ripped open the nurse's uniform. Her plump brown breasts sat proudly in a white lace bra with white lace panties to match. The audience cheered lustily. _'__Como iba a hacer esto?'_

Before Kendl could grind on the pole at the end of the stage, Cesar stormed across the club and hopped on the stage. He swept Kendl into his arms, but she was far from excited. "What the…Cesar?!"

"Yeah, it's me, baby."

The music had stopped. Customers were booing. "Get down from there, spic asshole!" one customer yelled.

"Hey, if he gets to touch her, I want a free lapdance!"

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Cesar, what are you doing here?"

Two security guards approached the stage. "Sir, put the girl down."

"What are you doing, Cesar? How did you get here?" Kendl repeated.

"Sir, put the girl down _now_," a security guard warned, aiming his gun at Cesar, "and step off the stage!"

_'__I estoy tomando mi mujer, hijoputa!'_Cesar yelled and shifted Kendl onto his right shoulder, like he was a fireman. As he reached for his silenced .9 mm, Cesar stepped backwards to distract the aim of the security guards. Cesar reached his gun before the first one could fire and squeezed off two bullets into the cranial cavities of the nearest two guards. The first dropped cleanly. In the throes of death, the second one fell backwards, squeezing off a round of bullets.

A cacophonous explosion ripped through the club. Kendl started screaming and kicking frantically. Customers bellowed and upset tables and chairs, running in panic. Other strippers and the waitresses started screaming and running. "Don't shoot the girl! Don't shoot the girl!" yelled a porcine White man in a pinstriped suit from one side of the club.

Cesar processed it all, even as he turned to a third security guard and shot the man three times in his left side. The falling guard squeezed off a round of bullets, tearing up the plywood stage. "Hijoputas!"

Cesar jumped off the stage, still carrying a terrified Kendl and two shots ricocheted off the gold stripper pole behind them. Cesar overturned a table, laid Kendl on the ground, and took cover. She curled into crouch in the small space they had.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Cesar?"

Cesar spotted the gunman immediately. It was the bartender. Three other gunmen were shooting at him using walls as cover from the other side of the club, and the fat White man had joined in the firefight with a Desert Eagle, which he boldly aimed from an unprotected spot. Cesar dropped the bartender with a bullet to the head. "Sólo debe mezclar bebidas!"

He reloaded the gun. "Lo que me pasa? Te pasa, Kendl?!" The security guards took advantage of the lull in Cesar's shots to approach closer. The Azteca warrior popped up and emptied the chamber: two shots into the nearest guard's chest; a round in between the second one's eyes; and to the third and last, a bullet to his shoulder and to his throat. "I came to Venturas looking for you, and I found you working in a motherfucking strip club!"

Cesar slipped his gun back into his waistband and pulled Kendl to her feet. The Pink Muffin reeked of blood, urine, and gunpowder. The last gunman, the fat man in the pinstriped suit, lay on the ground with an emptied gun and clutching his chest. "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" he wheezed.

"Bien, now I don't have to waste the bullets on you," he said to the fat man. "Vamanos, Kendl, let's get out of here before the pigs show up." He ran with her, hand-in-hand to the front door of the club and to the parking lot. "You got some nerve talking to me like that, Kendl. No soy estúpido." He opened the car door for Kendl, shut it, and hopped over the door.

"Don't pull that angry Spanish bullshit on me, Cesar. I know what you said. And yeah, I'm working at a strip club. It's paying for my education."

Kendl indignantly folded her arms over her chest. It distracted Cesar to see her half-naked body so tangibly close, and he missed his turn on Nixon to the Strip. He drove past Treasury Lane to turn left on Reagan Avenue. "What kind of educación you getting, and you still have to take off la ropa for those horny businessmen, eh mami? I thought you were better than that!"

"Not just horny businessmen, Cesar. Las Venturas is still a mob town, and there are mob guys who come in and pay money just to see me take off my clothes. I ain't too good for that, when I'm trying to get somewhere better in life."

"De que estas hablando, mi amor? You're too beautiful for this ghetto mentality."

"No, I'm too smart for it." Cesar stopped at a right light on the strip. "Where you going?"

"I got a suite at the Emerald Isle we could share."

"I'm staying at the Clown's Pocket."

"You can stay with me."

"Not after all that bullshit you got into with Pitbull."

"Don't talk about him." At just the mention of his name, Cesar saw the beefy gangbanger's frightened face and heard the train squealing as it ran over his body back in San Fierro. Cesar didn't like what he had done, but it was necessary.

"Oh shit, don't tell me he was frontin', _just_ like I warned you _and_ CJ? I told both of you that motherfucker wasn't right the minute he rolled in from Los Santos. Talkin' about how he was down for the hood. That nigga wasn't about shit."

"Bien, tu tenías razón. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The light turned green. Kendl sighed heavily. "You put him before me, Cesar. You were all about gangbanging and making your way back to Los Santos."

"So was CJ."

"I'm not dating my brother. I'm supposed to be your woman."

Cesar steered the car into the long, hedge-lined driveway of the Clown's Pocket. "Lo siento, mi amor. I'm sorry. Perdóname."

He parked in front of the elaborate gold doors inlaid with perfectly cut glass. Cesar glanced into the lobby; for a Saturday night in Las Venturas, the casino looked almost empty. There was no denying how beautiful the building was. Kendl sighed and captured his attention.

"Cesar, te amo a tí, para siempre, por la vida. I would stand by you through anything, you know that, baby. But you treated me like shit back in San Fierro. You had me living with those girls, Michelle and Katie, while you and CJ and Pitbull did all that shit to get back to Los Santos. You stopped treating me like your woman, and started treating me like a piece of shit. I don't know if I can or should trust you right now."

Kendl opened her car door, fastened up her dress, and walked into the casino. Cesar stared after her, but didn't pull off until the casino doors closed behind her.

* * *

**Author's Note: Because I don't speak Spanish (but I do speak, read, and write in French—it was a mistake, I know now, but I was trying to impress a girl), I used Google Translate for all Spanish phrases spoken or thought by Cesar. Here's a quick rundown of each one: **

**Esta ciudad…en la noche: This city is so beautiful at night.**

**Mi amor: my love**

**Que guapo: how handsome**

**Y encontrar mi amor: and find my love**

**Puta desvergonzada: shameless bitch**

**Nunca quise…uno ahora: Never had one before, and I don't want one now**

**I usted debe poner de su miseria: I should put you out of your misery**

**Si Kendl…a matarla: If Kendl is doing this, I will kill her**

**Mi amor…de vida: My love, you were not far away at all **

**Lo que en el infierno: What in the hell?**

**Como iba a hacer esto: How could she do this**

**I estoy tomando mi mujer, hijoputa: I am taking my woman, mf**

**Sólo debe mezclar bebidas: You should just mix drinks!**

**Lo que me pasa? ****Te pasa, Kendl: What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you, Kendl? **

**No soy estúpido: I'm not stupid.**

**Bien, ****tu tenías razón: Ok, you were right**

**Lo siento, mi amor…Perdóname: I'm sorry, my love…Forgive me.**

**Cesar,…por la vida: Cesar, I will love you always, for life.**


	2. Chapter 2: Bring 'Em Out

**Chapter 2: Bring 'Em Out**

**_Fulcrum State Prison, _**

**_18 miles north of Pimento, San Andreas; 285 miles northeast of Los Santos_**

**_Sweet Johnson_**

Sweet slammed the phone on the receiver and scowled at the sound of his hard-won change dropping. "Shit, where the fuck is this nigga?"

"Yo, you still ain't reached your brother yet?" Augustus asked.

Sweet's scowl focused on Augustus. The short, dark-skinned, muscled up gangbanger from Liberty City leaned against the sky blue brick wall of the Fulcrum State Prison dining hall. Augustus looked as casual as he possibly could in his orange cotton jumpsuit, but Sweet was aware of his cellmate's dark eyes roaming the prison's mess hall. If any of the Vagos, Ballas, or mafiosos who made up 80% of Fulcrum's population tried to come at Sweet, Augustus had his back.

Since their first day as cellmates, Augustus had watched out for Sweet. Augustus was a high-ranking member of a Liberty City Jamaican gang that had begun to stretch its fingers into San Andreas. Like Sweet, there weren't enough members of his own set to protect him inside the walls of Fulcrum. He had dropped the most obvious sign of his difference, his accent, long before arriving in prison. Thanks to Augustus' protection, Sweet had survived one attack in the prison's laundry already. He knew who to trust.

"Hell naw. That little bitch probably ran away again." Sweet shook his head. He was so angry, it made his head throb. "Just when I thought I could count on this little motherfucker."

"What you needed him for?"

"CJ was supposed to fix some shit on the outside for me." Sweet looked around and lowered his voice to a whisper. "You know, handle some _bidness_ on the outside."

"Personal or financial?" Augustus whispered back.

"A little bit of both: We got these niggas who used to rep the Grove, but they turned over for the pigs in Los Santos. And it wouldn't hurt to have a little paper in here. Problem now is, that motherfucker ain't answered his phone for three days now, and I still gotta check on the rest of the family."

"Maybe your little brother is dead, my nigga."

"Aye, don't say that bullshit to me, _ever _again!"

Augustus folded his arms. Sweet easily towered over the Jamaican gangsta, but Augustus showed no sign of backing down. "Look, I'm being as real as I can. Your brother might not be alive right now. He might have gone on to be with Jah, you know?"

"CJ might be a lot of things. But dead ain't one of them."

A buzzer sounded through the mess hall. "Damn, and that's the end of the lunch hour. I ain't even get to make my phone call."

"There's always tomorrow, nigga. Don't sweat it."

They moved to the main entrance of the mess hall. Two tall White guards armed with twelve-gauge pump action shotguns walked in and stood on either side of the double doors leading from the mess hall. "Let's go, you useless pieces of shit!" one of the guards barked to the prisoners.

Sweet walked away from the phone and joined the stream of prisoners filing in a single line from the mess hall. "You mean to tell me that with all your connections on the outside, none of those motherfuckers can handle this shit instead?"

"This sounds personal, just between you and your brother, a family situation. "

The Grove Street king wasn't listening. He studied the guards flanking the doors. They were both blond and tall, but the younger-looking one on Sweet's right looked more afraid than the grizzled one on Sweet's left. _'__This nigga's probably brand new on the job. Don't even know how to hold a motherfuckin' gun right yet.'_ As he passed the guards, he lunged at the one on his right and yelled, "Boo!"

It happened quickly: The guard flinched slightly but his grip on the gun slipped; he dropped the shotgun; Sweet caught it.

A more perfect opportunity never had existed in Sweet's lifetime. He turned the gun around and smashed its butt into the guard's face.

Chaos erupted in a moment. Prisoners broke their plodding pace and ran as the older guard raised his shotgun to shoot at Sweet. The guard's shot caught another prisoner in the side of the man's head, drenching Sweet's face and uniform in the non-culpable prisoner's blood. When the older guard winced, Sweet aimed his shotgun and blasted a crater from the guard's stomach. He glanced over his shoulder. "Aye, King! Get that motherfucker's gun!"

The mess hall emptied quickly. Sirens pealed throughout the prison. Augustus grabbed the gun as Sweet took up the guard's position beside the door. He spotted four guards running down the main hall of the prison, each armed with shotguns. With his peripheral vision, Sweet spotted three more guards approaching from the kitchen. Sweet crouched down and checked the dying guard's body for extra ammunition. _'__It's either us or these motherfuckers. They ain't about to let us go free, not after killing a guard.' _

Sweet loaded up shells into his shotgun. He took a quick deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the sound of the guards' racing footsteps in the hall and their instructions to each other from the kitchen on his left. _'__It's either us or these motherfuckers.'_ Sweet's eyes snapped open. "King, get 'em on the left!"

He stood up. Augustus covered Sweet's vulnerable left side. Sweet loaded a round, started running into the hall, and dropped into a crouch as the first guard fired a bullet where Sweet's heart had been a millisecond earlier. Sweet's shot caught the prison guard in the stomach.

_'__Motherfucking racist pigs, all y'all motherfuckers deserve to die!' _He strafed to his right, confusing a second guard for a moment. That moment was all Sweet needed to shoot the second guard dead-center in the guard's chest. The second guard gushed blood from the wound and sagged to the ground. _'__Y'all beat down homies just because we black and y'all skin white as snow.' _Sweet pumped another shell into the chamber as the last two guards dropped into crouches because there was nowhere to take cover. _'__Y'all motherfuckers must be some real badassses to beat down an unarmed nigga with y'all's nightsticks and shit because he won't run drugs through his ass for y'all. I got somethin' for y'all. This shit is for my homies in the Grove.'_

Both remaining guards fired on Sweet. The prison guards aimed a lot differently than gangbangers in South Central or East Los Santos. Between the two of them, they had children and spouses; they had reasons to be cautious and live. Since he had been locked up, Sweet had no girlfriend, no wife, and no children on the outside. The prison guards shot chunks from the brick wall to Sweet's right and left. One round grazed the left side of Sweet's head so thoroughly it left a scorching trail through his low-cut hair. By contrast, Sweet aimed to kill and didn't care if it meant his death too. One round ripped through a guard's ribcage, liver, and right kidney. The final guard fell to the ground with a round that shattered his sternum and obliterated his heart.

"King, let's go!" Sweet yelled into the mess hall. Augustus sprinted into the corridor and caught up. The Grove Street don led the way to a T-shaped corridor and pointed with his gun to the left side of the hall. "Ok, if I'm right, we should be able to get out through this door on the right."

"Sweet, how long you been planning to break outta jail?"

"Planning? Nah, nigga, I ain't plan this shit! It just happened!"

More guards poured into the corridor and blocked Sweet's path of escape. They were armed with shotguns. Augustus and Sweet took shelter behind a corner. _'__There's gotta be thirty of these guards in my way. I've faced worse odds; I'm from South Central LS, motherfuckers.'_

"Shit, Sweet, there's no way in hell we're gonna get through these motherfuckers, even with a hundred rounds of ammo!"

"Don't let it stop you from tryin', nigga! These fishbelly motherfuckers done held us down too long in this prison!"

Augustus and Sweet turned into the hallway and went on a slaughtering spree. Using the incremental niches in the walls along the hall, they dodged the advancing line of fire while showering the guards with a furious volley of bullets. Sweet gunned down four guards. Augustus took down six with a hasty shots fired from his post behind the jutting out wall.

They stopped to reload. Sweet hurried to load his shells. "You good, King, or you need some extra?"

"I got it, my brother!"

"You dumbass jailbirds, give up now, or we'll be forced to annihilate you!" yelled one guard. Sweet heard him creeping down the hall. He turned and fired a round that caught the guard in the neck. The guard doubled over backwards and choked to death on his own blood. Another guard tried to flee the corridor. Sweet shot him in the upper right thigh. Blood gushed out and the guard collapsed, sobbing like a newborn child.

Augustus turned and started firing on the guards too. "Look at that, my brother! You almost caught up with me!" He shot three guards in their faces. "Well, not no more!"

"Stop talkin' trash, nigga, and figure out a way for us to get out this motherfuckin' mess!" Sweet yelled.

"I got an idea!" Augustus fired a warning shot then darted across the hall to Sweet's side. He leaned close enough to Sweet that he was like a second skin to the Grove Street don.

"Here's the plan: We goin' make our way out through this window. It's right on the exercise yard, brother!" Augustus shot out the glass window. When the window shattered, Augustus used the butt of his shotgun to batter the securely bolted iron grill until it caved in.

A guard sprinted around the corner. Sweet barely had time to shoot the guard in his head before diving out the ground floor window. Augustus leaped out after him, and the two Black gangbangers sprinted across the yard. Even though he was shorter, Augustus ran faster in a zigzag pattern across the yard. Sweet ran in a straight line. "What the fuck you runnin' like that for?" Sweet panted.

He heard the ping of a sniper's bullet striking the ground behind him. "Shit, the guards done spotted us!"

"Why you think I'm running like I'm crazy, brother?"

The air siren echoed through the yard. Sweet practically felt the snipers in the towers around the prison aiming at his head and firing. Another bullet impacted the ground to the right of Sweet's right foot. He immediately began running in a zigzag pattern with a broad sweep. "Any idea how we gonna get outta here?"

"Yeah, through the underground electric closet over there!" Augustus aimed his shotgun at the twin doors of the padlocked entrance, and fired even while running. The padlock snapped off. Augustus kept running, reached the doors, and yanked them open. Augustus tossed his shotgun to the side and dropped down into the hole with a yell. Three more sniper bullets dug into the dirt around him before Sweet dropped into the murky abyss, still cradling his gun.

He splashed into something watery, which broke his fall. The tunnel had only one source of light, and that came from the entrance Sweet and Augustus had used. But there was a bigger problem. "Shit, nigga, this electric closet stinks!"

"It's not really an electric closet. It's a sewer," Augustus corrected nonchalantly. From the sound of his voice, he had walked through the sewer to a point far ahead of Sweet. The Grove Street don struggled to keep up. On top of the smell, the further they got from the entrance, the darker and tighter the tunnel became.

"What the fuck? Why you ain't say it was the sewer, nigga?"

"Would you want to get in the sewer, my brother? Come on. We got to crawl at this point."

Sweet could feel the tunnel closing more tightly around him, and reluctantly crouched down into the mucky water. Something soft pressed against his hand. The smell was unavoidable. Sweet's stomach lurched into his throat, and even though he resisted the reflex, he retched violently into the sewer water. _'__What the fuck is this crazy Jamaican nigga thinking? I better not die in this tunnel, swimming in everybody's shit and my own fucking throw up.'_

They crawled and crawled for what seemed to be hours. Because the tunnel was so constricted, there was no room to talk. Sweet threw up again before he smelled much needed fresh air. Augustus disappeared just as the tunnel became lighter and wider. Sweet reached the end of the tunnel. He stuck his head out for his first taste of fresh air and gazed at his new surroundings.

Fulcrum State's sewer tunnel was embedded into a concrete wall in an even more elaborate sewer system. There wasn't much more space or light, but there was enough space inside the larger sewer tunnel for Sweet to crouch instead of crawl. Augustus stood only a few feet away, hunched over in even more muck. "Where the fuck we at, nigga?" Sweet asked.

"It's the Pimento County sewer system," Augustus explained. He started walking through the tunnel. Sweet crawled out and followed. "When San Andreas built Fulcrum State, those politicians decided to save money by connecting the prison sewer to Pimento County sewer. If we follow this tunnel all the way through, it'll take us to just outside Pimento."

"What the fuck for? So we can get arrested in some fuckin' piece of shit town?" Sweet gagged and held back another round of vomit.

"No, brother, you gonna see when we get there." Augustus' Jamaican Patois dialect was beginning to break through again.

"I just crawled through three miles of shit, piss, vomit, and other trash. Now you want me to walk my ass through three more miles of shit?" _'__And probably listen to your ass talk in all that Jamaican bullshit y'all talk in?' _

"We didn't walk through no three miles of sewer. That just crazy, brother. We walk through five hundred metres of it. Now we walk through three miles of sewer," Augustus nearly laughed.

"Augustus, you fuckin' crazy nigga, you betta stop right now because I ain't walkin' my Black ass through three miles of this garbage."

"Look, brother, maybe you don't want your freedom like I want my freedom."

"Fuck that. Stop talking so I don't have to throw up again, nigga." For the remainder of the distance to their destination, Sweet didn't say anything else to Augustus, and Augustus didn't speak either. "Hey brother, this where we climb up," Augustus announced when they reached a large sewer grate opening. He scaled the built-in ladder first, followed by Sweet, and pushed open the grate.

Sunlight struck Sweet across the face as soon as he ascended the ladder. He crawled up, closed his eyes, sprawled on the ground, and inhaled deeply of the thick, pungent aroma of pine trees in the afternoon sun. After a few minutes, Sweet opened his eyes and looked around. Augustus was a few feet away, stripping off his filthy prison jumpsuit and shoes to change clothes. "Come on. I got clothes for you too. And we gotta hurry."

Sweet started stripping off his jumpsuit down to his white boxers without another moment's hesitation. He kicked off his shoes and reached into the duffel bag Augustus pointed at. There was a white tank, plaid shirt, blue jeans, and red boots inside. Sweet changed into the clothes, even though his skin still reeked of the sewer. "Aye, nigga, so how we gettin' out this forest?"

Augustus pulled a Rockstar sweater over his head. He threw his jumpsuit and Sweet's jumpsuit into the black duffel bag, and headed deeper into the woods. Sweet noticed that the duffel bag remained behind. "Our ride is over here, brother. Come on."

They walked a short distance through the trees to a gray Huntley. Climbing in, Sweet could appreciate the luxurious interior with wood grain dashboard, warm leather seats, and clean carpets. "How long you been planning this shit?" Sweet asked.

Augustus climbed into the driver's seat. "Since I got locked up. Let's go."

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks go out to the guest reviewer and to viciosodiego for following and favoriting this story.**** As with all my GTA stories, here is a brief explanation of references used in this chapter. **

**Fulcrum State Prison is an allusion to Folsom State Prison, made famous by the country singer Johnny Cash and brought to my attention by the biopic ****_Walk the Line._****Joaquin Phoenix deserved an Oscar for that role. Pimento is a parody of California's state capitol, Sacramento. "Jamaican gang from Liberty City" is a reference to the Yardies mentioned in ****_GTA III_****and ****_Liberty City Stories_****, and Augustus is a reference to King Courtney, the main Yardies character from those games. I didn't make it clear enough in the previous story, but that was always my intent. "Give up now or we'll be forced to annihilate you" is an allusion to the line that always came from the police helicopter in ****_GTA: San Andreas _****when CJ went on a long enough rampage. The scene of Sweet and Augustus crawling through the sewer tunnel is an allusion to one of my favorite movies, ****_The Shawshank Redemption_****, when Andy Dufresne crawled to his freedom. **


	3. Chapter 3: Leaving Las Barrancas

**Chapter Three: Leaving Las Barrancas**

_CJ Johnson_

_Las Barrancas, Bone County_

The sunlight nearly blinded CJ when he opened his eyes. He squinted his eyelids and tried to shield them with his large hands. His hands rebounded on a pair of metal handcuffs.

_'__What the fuck?'_ CJ sat upright and winced at an immediate wave of pain in his abdomen. The husky Black gangsta studied the heavy cotton bandages wrapping his midsection and examined the room around him. The smell of antiseptic was thick in the room, and the walls around CJ's bed were a dull blue.

"Oh good kid, you're awake. For a moment there, I thought the drugs might have put you further under. Always good to know I've still got a steady hand."

CJ turned his head in the direction of the man's voice. "Who the fuck are you?" He sat up more and glared at the middle-aged White man sitting in the brown chair beside his bed. Once the face came into view, CJ's mouth dropped open. "Toreno?"

Toreno stood up. "In the flesh, kid."

"But-but-but….Look, Toreno, I know I really fucked up, but it wasn't personal! Why don't you just fuckin' kill me? You ain't nothin' but a busta ass yayo dealer anyway!"

Toreno seized CJ's throat. "Shut up! You think I'm just a drug dealer? You have no idea. I'll admit I have had dealings in Latin America, but I am far from a simple drug dealer." He released CJ's throat and strode to the end of the hospital bed. "You're an embarrassment to your profession. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it before you woke up. As it turns out, I need you to do something for me."

CJ scowled. His throat was parched, so he reached for a cup of water on the table beside his hospital bed. CJ gulped down the cool water and set the empty cup back on the table. "Fuck you, Toreno. I ain't yo' bitch no more."

Toreno chuckled. "Kid, if you don't do as I tell you to do, your brother will wake up tomorrow in the backwoods of Bayou with six rednecks making him squeal like a pig. And your sister will find herself in Beirut on an auction block for sex slaves. I know people in very high places. The kind of strings I can pull can erase you off the planet, or turn you into a saint. So you want to be on my good side."

"Man, who the fuck are you?"

"I'm just a man who's trying to bring about peace on earth. Is that too much to ask for?"

"I guess not. Look, could you let me outta these damn handcuffs? They cuttin' into my wrists."

"As a show of good faith, why not?" Toreno produced a key from his pocket, which he used to unlock CJ's right wrist. As soon as CJ heard the click on the left handcuff, he swung his right fist and caught Toreno on the jaw. He stumbled but didn't fall to the floor. "That's for threatening my brother and sister, motherfucker." CJ swung his feet to the cold hospital floor; his legs almost gave away but CJ held onto the bed to support his weight. "Now what the fuck do you want me to do?"

Toreno rubbed his jaw and cut his eyes at CJ. "Under your bed, there is a briefcase with ten thousand dollars. Somewhere outside the hospital, there is a dirty yellow Sanchez. And there's an airstrip out in the desert. I want you to go to the airstrip and buy it. Shouldn't cost much; offer them a dollar and it's yours."

"What if I don't wanna buy an airstrip? Shit, with ten thousand dollars…"

Toreno lunged and grabbed CJ's throat again. CJ felt the pressure in his arteries rise. His head pounded. The air was cut off from his lungs. "You have a good right hook, kid. Don't make me your enemy, not if you ever want to see your brother or sister again." Toreno released CJ's throat, leaving the built Black gangsta to gasp for air.

CJ rubbed his sore neck then appraised his surroundings. Sunlight filled the room from a picture window on the right side of CJ's bed. An IV penetrated one of the sinewy veins in CJ's right forearm. It was held in place by several strips of bright pink gauze tape, matching the color of CJ's hospital gown. _'Damn, I look like a bottle of Pink Potion!'_

Wincing from the pain, CJ pulled off the gauze tape and pulled out the IV needle. He wiped off the blood that leaked out, dropped the floor in a push-up position, and checked under the bed for a briefcase. It lay on its side under the bed. CJ pulled it out, unlocked it, and skimmed through the bundles of cash inside. _'Yeah, there's ten grand in here. Now how in the hell am I supposed to get outta this place?'_

CJ studied the hospital window on the opposite side of his bed. _'That shit'll break easily. And I got just the thing to do it too.'_ CJ picked up Toreno's chair and heaved it at the window. The glass shattered upon impact. CJ picked up the briefcase, jumped over the bed, and dove out the window. He landed in a smooth tuck-and-roll maneuver.

_'__Shit, now I gotta find me some wheels.'_ CJ surveyed his surroundings. The hospital was surrounded by a thinning green lawn on the edge of a half-deserted street. For miles around, CJ only saw wind-whipped desert sands, decrepit storefronts, and old pickup trucks rolling down the lonely streets. _'Damn, I must be in Bone County. I gotta get outta here and get back to San Fierro, gotta find Kendl.'_

A passing Walton with a red cab and flat open wooden bed drew CJ's attention. The driver stopped and studied CJ. He was scruffy, wiry, and gray haired. CJ dashed to the driver's side of the truck. "Hey, how do I get to the nearest airstrip?"

"The nearest airstrip? Well, that must be Verdant Meadows." The old White man stroked his beard. "It's straight down this here highway, mister, about twenty miles down the road. Er, do you want a ride?"

"Nah, but I'll take yours." CJ tugged open the driver's side door, grabbed the old man by the front of his shirt, and yanked him from the truck. CJ hopped into the driver's seat, slammed the door shut, and set his briefcase in the passenger's seat. "Thanks for the ride, sir."

CJ drove in the direction that the elderly White man had indicated. The highway wound through a featureless town and a bland, uninteresting desert. As the road climbed up a hill, CJ spotted an airfield filled with pieces of planes. _'That must be the airstrip. And this must be the road the leads to it.' _CJ cut a hard right down the packed dirt road. At the bottom of the hill, he turned onto the landing strip toward an air tower. _'This place is real nice. Looks empty though. I guess they don't make much money.'_

As CJ pulled up, a heavyset woman in a floral print sundress walked out the air tower. CJ brought the Walton to a screeching halt and stepped out the truck. He examined himself in the driver's side mirror. CJ still had on his hospital gown and his neatly maintained braids had grown loose and unruly. _'Soon as I get back to San Fierro, I'm gonna get cleaned up.'_

He turned to the heavyset blonde. "Good morning, ma'am. I'm here to make an offer you can't refuse."

"Who in the hell are you? You look like some homeless nigger."

CJ's ire flared immediately, but he suppressed it. "Well, this homeless nigger has five thousand dollars to offer for your little shitty ass airstrip."

The blonde narrowed her icy gaze. "This airstrip is worth at least eight thousand dollars."

"I'll offer you eighty five hundred." CJ held up his briefcase.

With a toothless grin, the blonde beckoned CJ into the air control tower. "Very well then, come on into my office and let's talk terms. We'll get this in writing, all legal and proper like."

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you again for continuing to read this story. I know it has been a long time since I posted a new story. My laptop crashed last August, and in the following months, my family has been dealing with a cancer scare. My mom is still undergoing chemotherapy and has had surgery.**

**Regarding the story, Bayou is an stand-in for the state of Louisiana, and the scenario that Toreno describes for Sweet comes from the infamous scene from the movie ****_Deliverance_****, which I have not seen in full. The scenario Toreno describes for Kendl is an allusion to the film ****_Taken_****, when Kim is offered on an auction block. Pink Potion is a stand-in for Pepto Bismol.**


	4. Chapter 4: Scent of a Woman

**Chapter 4: Scent of a Woman**

* * *

_November 1992, two days later_

_Cesar Vialpando_

_Emerald Isle Casino, Las Venturas_

For the last two days, Cesar had started his mornings the same way.

He woke-up, mid-morning, to the sun over San Andreas storming through the slotted windows of his luxury suite. Cesar sat up with a groan, shirtless, and squinted at the latest stripper he had bedded the night before. She lay on her stomach; the white 600-thread count sheets barely covered her caramel-colored back. Cesar rubbed his face, struggling to remember her real name. All he could recall was her stage name: Ebony Star.

As he had for the last two days, Cesar slipped out of the bed and used the light from the window to find his blue cotton boxers and a pair of tan chinos on the floor. Ebony Star's black silk panties, black stockings, and bra were cast casually around the floor. Just as Cesar zipped up his tan chinos, Ebony Star moaned softly—without half the volume from the night previous. He turned to her. Their eyes met.

"Hey there, cutie," she said groggily with a shy smile.

Even first thing in the morning, Ebony Star was pretty. She had a heart-shaped face, pouty lips, and large brown, doe-like eyes. Her coarse brown wig tumbled in waves to the middle of her back, even though it was askew. When Ebony Star sat up from the bed, her curvaceous body gleamed in the mid-morning sunlight. With her supple breasts with perky brown nipples and a trim waist that sat proudly above her thick creamy brown thighs, she was a fantasy for any man.

"Buenos días. I wasn't trying to wake you up."

She smiled shyly. "I was lucky to get any sleep last night. You were amazing."

Cesar picked up his white cotton tank top and pulled it on. Ebony Star stared at the movement of his muscles. He grinned at her. "You were solo una aventura de una noche, aprisa y comiendo."

"Aww, you say such romantic things to me! I bet that's how you get all the girls, with that sexy Spanish accent. Come give me a kiss."

"I'd love to, but…" Cesar's phone rang. He would have used the same line on Ebony Star that he had used on two strippers the night before, and on a Las Venturas showgirl the night before. They easily attached emotionally to Cesar, and it baffled the Azteca warrior. He picked up his phone. "Que honda, who is this?"

"Hey Ceese, good morning."

"Kendl?"

"Kendl?" Ebony Star repeated. She climbed off the bed and walked up to Cesar, who turned his back on the stripper.

"Yeah, it's me. Are you busy?"

"Kendl? Who the fuck is Kendl?"

Ebony Star tried to get into Cesar's face, but he turned his back to her again. On the other end of the phone, Kendl asked, "Who was that?"

"Nobody important," Cesar replied quickly.

"What? You didn't think I was nobody important last night when I was sucking your dick!" Ebony Star slapped Cesar's back. Cesar grabbed her left arm and dropped the phone. "Hey, what are you—What are you doing? Let go of me!" He dragged her to the door of his hotel suite. "What the fuck?"

"Get out, you stinking puta estúpida!" Cesar unlocked the door with his free hand and pushed the naked stripper into the hall with the other.

"Hey! What about my clothes?"

Cesar returned to the bed, stooped down, and picked up every article of Ebony Star's clothing. Returning to the door, he flung the stripper's clothes at her. Then Cesar slammed the door shut and picked up his phone. "Kendl, are you there?"

"I'm still here, Ceese."

"Lo siento, amor. I had to take out some trash. Now, what were we talking about?"

"I was wondering if we could talk about us. Maybe we could meet somewhere and talk face to face?"

Cesar's heart raced. "Sure, donde estas?"

"There's a Burger Shot in Spinybed, not far from my apartment. Can we meet there?"

"Sure thing."

"I'll see you in an hour, Ceese."

* * *

Fifty-eight minutes later, Cesar strolled into the Spinybed Burger Shot. He wore a clean white tank top with a plaid turquoise-and-white cotton shirt over the tank. The top button just below his collar was fastened, and Cesar had changed from tan chinos to a pair of black khakis. After shaving and getting dressed, he had stopped at the Xoomer gas station just down the street to purchase a bouquet of flowers for Kendl. Cesar had sprayed on some Bouche cologne and wore a gold chain with a medallion of Aztec gold around his neck.

The waitress behind the counter studied Cesar when he walked in. A few twenty-something women eating salads in a booth eyed him as Cesar walked through the restaurant. But there was only one woman he was checking for.

Kendl sat in one corner of Burger Shot with her arms folded over her chest. She wore a gray greenglass college sweater and a pair of faded blue jeans with blue Suburban sneakers. Kendl's finger braids framed her cute face and caught all the light in the restaurant. She was stunning. _'__Mi chica, mi corazon,'_ Cesar thought.

She looked in his direction as Cesar approached her. "You're right on time, Ceese."

"For you, I always am." Kendl stood up and hugged Cesar with her arms around his neck. Cesar wrapped his arms around Kendl's waist. Cesar didn't want to let her go, but he had to. It felt so natural and perfect. They sat across the table from each other. Kendl rested her forearms on the table and looked at the Formica tabletop sadly. "Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?"

Kendl shook her head. "Not right now." She slid her hands across the table and gently touched Cesar's left hand. "Listen, Ceese, I've been thinking about you a lot. After everything that went down in the Pink Muffin, I-I realized that…I've always…thought of you as my hero."

"Como es que?"

The Grove Street princess entwined her fingers with Cesar's. "Until I met you, I didn't know anyone else who had dreams of getting out the hood like I do. All I saw were my brothers' lame ass friends. They wasn't trying to go nowhere or be nothing. You were."

"Me siento lo mismo por te. But why all this heartache, huh? Why do you push me away, if you love me? Why do you hurt me? Hurt us?"

"Because, Cesar, I…" A phone rang from Kendl's side of the table. She reached into her purse and pulled out the phone to answer the call. "Hello? Hey, what's up?" Cesar didn't try to listen, but from his perspective, the person on the other end of the phone sounded like an angry man. "What do you….No, no, I'm not supposed to…Get one of your other girls to…." Kendl's tone changed from firm to pleading, and Cesar's fists balled in anger. "I don't….Fine. Fine! I said fine! I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Kendl hung up the phone with a tired expression on her face. "That was my boss from the club. There's a customer who wants me to dance for him specifically. Will you take me to work?"

Cesar kept a serene face but his stomach roiled with rage. "Sure." He led Kendl to his cherry red Savanna, opened the passenger's door, and let Kendl climb in before driving off. _'__Too bad I didn't know she had to work. I wouldn't come here.'_ Cesar drove in silence until they crossed the Julius Thruway. "I thought you quit working at that place?"

"I did quit. But this club is run by the mob, Ceese. Half of this town is in their pockets. Dancers don't just quit."

"But your boss, he knows I shot up the place the last time I was there, no?"

Kendl sighed in exasperation and rested her face in her hands. "Look Ceese, all I know is my boss called me and told me to come in today because of an important client."

"Who is this pinche motherfucker?"

"Johnny Sindacco. He's a member of the Sindacco mob family. You do _not_ want to fuck with them, Ceese."

"So my woman has to strip and display her beautiful naked body for these gringo motherfuckers, but I can't ask who the fuck they are? Va no me quieres."

"How can you say that?" When Cesar did not answer, Kendl sucked her teeth. "Fine. I'll talk to these mafia motherfuckers, but it's only because I _do_ love you, Cesar. I'm not doing it for myself. I want you to understand that."

When they reached the club, Cesar's mind was racing. _'__Quiere algo major de la vida, pero ella decide trabajar asi. Puedo hacerme cugo de ella, si me lo permite.'_ He opened his door first and turned off the car. When he crossed behind the Savanna, Cesar opened the trunk and pulled out two .44 magnum handguns with silencers. He stuffed them into the waistband of his sagging black khakis and put two extra bullet clips into his pockets. When Cesar closed the trunk, Kendl stared at him through the rearview mirror.

"Cesar, what are you doing?"

"I'm protecting my woman." He opened the passenger's door and allowed Kendl to step out. Cesar pressed the keys to the Savanna into her left hand. "Mira, take my car and drive around the corner from this place. Wait for me. If I'm not there in ten minutes…"

"Cesar, don't do this. I don't care about this job! I care about you!"

The Azteca warrior pulled Kendl into his arms and planted a heavy kiss on her lips. Kendl yielded fully and pressed her supple body against Cesar's hard body. Cesar pressed for a deeper kiss. Kendl's back hit the side panel of the car and she whimpered. Cesar finally pulled away for air. Her mouth was red, and Cesar was panting for air. "I'll meet you at that big castle, mi amor. I have to protect you." Cesar helped Kendl into the driver's side of his Savanna, watched her turn the engine over, and drive off.

He approached the entrance of the Pink Muffin. The bouncer, a burly and bald Black man who had to be 6'4" or taller, crossed his enormously muscled arms over his broad chest and glared down at Cesar. He had the build of someone who consumed steroids for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and who lived in a gym. He firmly placed one veiny hand on Cesar's chest. "Aren't you the retard wetback who shot this place up two days ago?"

Cesar pointedly pushed aside the hem of his plaid shirt to reveal the two handguns stuffed into his waistband. "And I'm about to do even worse tonight. If you don't want to feel the wrath of Cesar Vialpando, leave, pendejo."

The bouncer walked away. "I didn't even see you here tonight."

As the bouncer disappeared into the neon-lit skyline of Las Venturas, Cesar proceeded through the doors of the strip club. The interior showed the damage of Cesar's wrath still. There was a sheet of plywood to replace the mirror over the bar and the glass shelves of liquor behind the bar. The stage was more dimly lit than before in the absence of several lights, and the main stripper pole seemed a little dinged. Cesar walked confidently toward the blue door marked private: manager at the back of the club.

Another bouncer approached Cesar and stiff-armed the Azteca warrior. "You're not allowed back there. You gotta leave. Boss' orders."

"Go tell your pinche boss that Cesar Vialpando wants to speak to him about Kendl Johnson."

The bouncer glared at Cesar and pressed on an ear piece in his left ear. "Sir, Cesar Vialpando is here to speak to you about Kendl Johnson." Someone screamed into his ear, and Cesar chuckled when the bouncer winced. "Boss wants to speak to you in his office upstairs."

The bouncer led Cesar to the door, unlocked it, and up a short flight of stairs. He knocked on the door. A blonde woman, wearing a corset with blue and white sequins and matching leather chaps, opened the door. She glanced at Cesar with a distraught look on her face. "Come in. The boss is expecting you."

Cesar walked past her and into the office. The floor was carpeted with faux tiger skin. Brown leather chairs waited in front of an enormous carved ebony desk. The legs of the desk were carved nude women holding up the desk top, as though they were miniature Atlases. On the wall behind the desk, there were a dozen or more framed photographs of nude women posing provocatively. Some had even signed the photographs. The remaining walls around the desk were adorned with poster-sized photographs of celebrities posed with the man who sat behind the ostentatious desk.

He had swarthy skin and a strong square jaw. His jet black hair was slicked back and styled into a pompadour. Gray streaks in his hair and fine lines around his eyes gave away the man's age. His thick black eyebrows knit his face into an expression that read, "I'm big league. You're minor leagues. Don't try me." His eyes were as dark as his hair and his razor-thin mustache.

"So, you're the young troublemaker who shot up my club last week, huh? Kind of skinny. I'm guessing your mother didn't feed you much, eh?" the man chuckled. He spoke with a heavy Guido accent.

"No hablo de mi madre, hijoputa!" Cesar pulled out both his handguns. At the same time, Kendl's boss pulled out a combat shotgun from his lap.

"Now, this is what my people call a 'Mexican standoff.' I'm sure this is what you people call a normal day at the taco stand." Cesar disengaged the safety on his guns. Kendl's boss pumped a shell into the chamber. "Don't be stupid, burrito breath. You pull that trigger, I pull this trigger, and neither of us goes home happy. And you want to be happy, don't you, taco meat? You want to go home to fuck your little black cherry pie, don't you?"

"Don't talk about her."

A few tense seconds passed. Then Kendl's boss unexpectedly smiled. "I have an idea, but first allow me to introduce myself: Vincenzi Andretti. And you are?"

"Cesar Vialpando."

"Ah, I like that name; named for the first of the Roman emperors. Your mother was wise. Now, let us reach an accord."

"I want to keep my guns raised."

"Very well, here's my deal: I have problems here in Las Venturas. I shouldn't have problems here. I came here to escape my problems on the East Coast. Help me get rid of my problems, and I'll release your girlfriend from my clutches."

There wasn't a moment's hesitation on Cesar's part. "Who do you need me to kill?"

"It's not an issue of killing. I'll tell you what I want done and when. And I'll call your girlfriend's phone when I need to contact you. Now go stroke that pussy," Vincenzi chortled.

Cesar backed from the office with his guns still aimed at Vincenzi. The mobster didn't lower his gun either. When they were beyond each other's sight, Cesar tucked his guns into his waistband and dashed from the club.

He had to run several blocks before finding Kendl parked in front of Come-A-Lot. She was chewing a piece of gum and tapping her foot on the floor of the car. Cesar leaned on the passenger's door. "Hey, mamacita, how about I pour some leche into your coffee tonight?"

Kendl climbed out, ran around the car, and hugged Cesar tightly. She stepped back after a long hug and scrutinized Cesar with a look. "What happened? You don't look like you were in a gunfight."

"Si mon, pero no gunfight. Let me take you somewhere nice and we can talk about it."

"How 'bout you take us to San Fierro, so we can find my brother and handle our business there? I'm sick and tired of Venturas. This place has nothing but bad memories."

"Ok, whatever you want, mi amor." Cesar kissed Kendl's left cheek. She responded by kissing his lips lightly. Cesar opened the passenger's side door, let Kendl climb in, and went to the driver's side to start up the car.

* * *

**Author's Note: The title of this chapter is an allusion to the 1992 film, ****_Scent of a Woman. _****It won an Oscar for Al Pacino, and if you've seen it, you know why. He delivered a great performance. For Ebony Star's appearance, I was visualizing Kim Kardashian. **

**"****¿Como es que?"****How is that?**

**Me siento lo mismo por te****. ****I feel the same way about you.**

**Va no me quieres****You don't love me anymore.**

**Quiere algo…permite**_._**She wants to do better, but she works in a place like this? I can provide for her, if she will let me.**

**No hablo de mi madre, hijoputa ****Don't talk about my mother, motherfucker!**

**Continue to review and follow.**


	5. Chapter 5: Unforgiven

**Chapter 5: Unforgiven**

_Sweet Johnson_

_Pimento, San Andreas, just before dawn_

"Damn, nigga, can't we stop or something? I feel like I'm running a motherfuckin' marathon in these hills!" Augustus panted. He stopped in his tracks and doubled over, gasping for air. Just ahead of him, Sweet stopped too. He was breathing heavily as well but assessed the area around them.

The two escaped prisoners stood on a wooded hillside just outside the small town of Pimento, San Andreas. Fallen leaves blanketed the ground and crunched underfoot with every step. Because of the abundantly denuded trees around them, Sweet and Augustus would be easy to spot from the stretch of road that lay at the bottom of the steep hill. The Grove Street king took cover behind a particularly wide oak tree as a tractor trailer passed on the road.

"Nigga, we ain't got time for yo' ass to be outta breath! We escaped convicts. You don't know who might see us when we out here like some sitting ducks!" Sweet reprimanded him. He glanced around the truck. A blue Manana glided down the road.

"Ain't nobody checkin' for us in these damn woods! We ran outta that prison like some motherfuckin' track stars!" Augustus wheezed.

"Maybe you right. But we ain't got time to slip up! Let's find some wheels and get back to Los Santos in a hurry."

"You sure that's what you wanna do, Sweet?"

Sweet narrowed his eyes at Augustus, but waited until a gray Sanchez sped down the road before speaking. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? The only reason I went with you when we broke out was to get back to Grove Street and take care of business."

"I think you got it twisted. You was the one punching guards and stealing they guns. I just went along for the ride."

"Nigga, ain't nobody studyin' that. Cops goin' see you being just as guilty as me. Anyway, our ride is gonna come along any minute. Let's get down there."

Sweet took off. His pace was unsteady because of the multitude of trees and branches along the way down the hill. Augustus was not far behind. By the time they reached the bottom of the hill, no cars had come along. The two gangbangers hid behind trees. Sweet motioned for Augustus to stay quiet by pressing his left index finger to his lips.

The next vehicle that came down the road was a bright blue Sanchez. "Ain't no way I'm riding on the bitch seat on a dirtbike," Augustus warned.

Sweet waited until the bike had passed before responding, "Nigga, you is a bitch. That seat was made especially for you."

Then a red Walton approached their location. Hidden halfway behind a large spruce tree, Sweet motioned to Augustus. "Come on, there's our ride now!"

Sweet dashed into the road, waving his arms in the air. The truck swerved and nearly crashed into the steep hill. The driver exited the vehicle. He was middle-aged, bald, and wore a pair of stained, weathered overalls. "What in God's green earth are you doing out in this road, boy? Don't you know you're liable to get killed out in these parts doing that shit?"

"We jus' need some help, sir," Augustus explained. He stepped out of the trees and approached the man from behind.

The man studied Augustus and Sweet's prison attire. "What you boys doin' out here in them prison jumpsuits? Y'all escaped?"

"Yeah, and we need them keys." Sweet clocked the man with a strong right hook. Augustus removed the man's keys from his pocket and handed them to Sweet. The driver lunged from his keys with a pained grunt. "Stay down, li'l bitch." Sweet punched the driver again and he collapsed unconscious. "Come on, King, let's get outta here." They climbed into the truck. Sweet took the driver's seat and Augustus hopped into the passenger's seat.

_Two hours and forty-one minutes later_

"I'm Lianne Forget, and this is WCTR news. In local news, police today are celebrating the destruction of a major crack cocaine ring that has virtually stopped the flow of drugs into Los Santos. Richard Burns explains from the streets.

"'Thanks, Lianne. I'm here with one of the undercover officers who worked closely with this case. What can you tell us about your undercover work?'

"'Yeah, I used to smoke crack every day. You know, just to be one of them. I even took my wife undercover with me and made her a crack whore. Say hello to the newsman, bitch!'

"'Hey, don't I know you? The rusty trombone?'

Richard Burns laughed nervously. "'I don't know you. You're crazy. Back to you in the studio, Lianne.'"

Lianne Forget cleared her throat. "'Alright. In other news, two hardened, notorious criminals escaped from the legendary Fulcrum State Prison. Sean "Sweet" Johnson and Augustus Carver are believed to have escaped during a violent prison riot three days ago. State police warn that both men are strapping Black men with muscular bodies chiseled by months of hard time,'" Lianne Forget began to pant heavily. "'Their bodies are rock hard and their temperaments are violent. They're exactly the type to break into a single woman's apartment in the middle of the night…for quarter…and ravage her wildly like untamed beasts…taking her…from the front, back, and mouth….'" Lianne moaned loudly on air.

Sweet turned off the radio. "Shit. Now the whole state will be on the lookout for us. I guess we just gotta stay on these back roads until we get to Los Santos." Sweet glanced at the dashboard. The gas level was dropping rapidly. "I hope we got enough gas to get there."

"And what we gonna do when we get there? You can't go back to Grove Street! Ballas done took over. We'll be dead before our feet touch the ground."

"I can't turn my back on my hood, homie. You already know that."

"But you won't get shit done for your hood, Sweet, if we both get laid out six feet under." Sweet stubbornly clenched his jaw. Augustus took another approach. "Look, I know some people who could help out. Just let me reach out to them."

"How the fuck are you gonna do that? We ain't got no damn cell phones!"

They were approaching the thickly wooded area around Angel Pine near the Coastal Highway overpass. In the shadow of Mount Chiliad, it seemed that the sun was blotted out completely, even though the mountain was almost a mile off. The air around them was pungent with the aroma of pine trees. "Hey, let's stop here. I'm gonna get someone to lend me a quarter and we can find a pay phone."

Sweet reluctantly steered the Walton down the road of the small town. He studied the pedestrians on the mostly deserted sidewalks as he coasted through the town. Most of the residents were overalls, work boots, or flannel. There was not a single non-White face in the lot. _'I ain't in Los Santos no more, that's fo' damn sure,'_ Sweet thought.

"Ayo, stop here," Augustus instructed. Sweet pumped the brakes on the Walton and the truck came to a whiny halt in front of an Ammu-Nation. Augustus opened the passenger's door and approached a husky brunette woman. She wore men's overalls and examined Augustus with a skeptical expression on her face, even as they conversed.

_'__Nigga, you betta hurry up and get that changed. Bitch lookin' at you like you causin' problems.'_ As if he had heard Sweet's thoughts, Augustus punched the woman in her face. She dropped like a crate of potatoes. _'Damn, nigga, you knocked her the fuck out!'_

Augustus scoped out the street around them. Sweet cast his eyes around too. There was no one paying any attention to Augustus or Sweet. Augustus dug through the woman's pockets then dashed back to the Walton. "Come on, nigga, let's go!"

"Where to?" Sweet asked.

"See if there's a gas station or somethin' nearby." Augustus opened the woman's soft brown leather wallet and rifled through it. He pulled out a handful of twenty dollar bills. "Ooooo, shit, this bitch was loaded! After I make this phone call, let's stop somewhere and get some food. I'm hungry as hell!"

Sweet nodded in agreement. He continued down the main road in Angel Pine then pulled into the lone gas station in sight, which was just off the highway. Sweet parked next to a pump, and Augustus climbed out. "Aye, get some gas while you in there. And get me a bag of Sodios."

Augustus nodded and proceeded into the store to use the indoor pay phone. Sweet exited the Walton to pump the gas. He spotted his former cellmate staring out the window of the gas station at him while speaking into a pay phone receiver. _'I wonder who this nigga is talkin' to. Better not be no Ballas bitch.'_

Sweet shot a nod at Augustus, opened the pump, and plugged in the nozzle. Suddenly, his face and head were covered in a black plastic bag. Sweet struggled against the pair of hands holding the bag in place. He lost his footing and fell to the asphalt ground. After a few seconds, the Grove Street king lost consciousness.

* * *

**Author's Note: The chapter's title, "Unforgiven," is based off the Academy Award-winning film by Clint Eastwood, who is one of my favorite directors; the last scene of the chapter is a little like the scene when Clint Eastwood's character was ambushed in a saloon by several gunmen after naively arriving in town. The line Sweet thinks, "She got knocked the fuck out," is based on the line Smokey used in ****_Friday, _****"You got knocked the fuck out!" And Sodios are based on Lay's Classic. **

**Review and follow.**


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